


baby, i have 800 choices (yet i always choose you, again and again)

by ayuminb



Series: Modern!AU Adventures [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (Ned/Cat consider Jon family), (Rickon is oblivious but surprisingly right here), (he's pretty good), (they also ship JonSa), (tho it's only underage if you live in the US), (upped the rating for very vague references to teenage drinking), A Pokemon Competitive Battling Expert, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff Alert, Jon Snow is a Gamer, POV Multiple, Sansa is a Gamer, Starklings Bonding, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb
Summary: in which Jon is a pretty good competitive pokemon player; the Starks are unimpressed





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> NN3DS means New Nintendo 3DS, just in case someone didn't know. title is a reference to the 802 pokemon that currently are part of the latest games. yup that's a lot. and we gotta catch 'em all.

Ten-year-old Rickon jumps onto his back the moment he steps into the Strak’s living room, crying for help. Jon shoots Robb a panicked look but before he can talk, a NN3DS is shoved into his face – Robb laughs and pats his shoulder, strolling past him and his little charge and jumping into the open seat on the couch, next to Bran.

 

“Jon!” Rickon shakes his 3DS in his face again, sounding truly distraught. “Jon, _help me_ , I’m losing!”

 

Arya, sprawled on the armchair, snorts and gives them a reproachful glare. “I’m trying to listen,” she says, motioning to the TV.

 

“Hey, Jon, Rickon’s going up against a pro, don’t bother helping him,” says Bran, typing away on his laptop. “This is his third match, and he already lost the first two.”

 

“Tis only because there’s no mercy!” The littlest Stark is whining, but Jon isn’t one to point it out. “And the team you made me _sucks_ , Bran!”

 

Jon moves further into the room as Bran looks up in his direction, leveling Rickon with an unimpressed look. Jon drops to the floor and lets the little one crawl into his lap, knows to wait this little argument out.

 

“I made you the team you wanted,” says Bran. “It has all you need for going Competitive. Sweepers, a Tanker that’s also a Hazer, and an Annoyer. Perfect move-sets, Natures, IVs and EVs distributions.”

 

Intrigued, Jon takes the NN3DS to check Rickon’s game out. It is just like Bran says, and that’s only him giving it a cursory glance. “You’re down to one—oh, Rickon, I’m sorry.”

 

“ _Eh_ —no!”

 

Unfortunate, that Jon had momentarily forgotten that online battles are timed, each action having a scarce minute to choose your next move before one runs out of time. Rickon’s opponent takes their failure to their advantage and finishes the only pokemon the little one had.

 

“See? Against a pro,” says Bran.

 

“It’s ok, we’ll ask for a rematch,” Jon waits for the game to process the loss, and then immediately asks the player for a rematch. “And we’re beating his ass.”

 

“Her.”

 

“Mm?”

 

Rickon turns to look at him over his little shoulder and points to the 3DS’ screen. “Her.”

 

And he’s right, that’s a girl player, and though he knows that means little in this situation—one can, of course, pick whichever gender to play as, regardless of their true identity—Rickon looks like he _knows_.

 

“Right then,” says Jon, already changing the pokemon’s order around to suit his usual strategy; even if this is not his perfectly built team. “We’ll be kicking her ass.”

 

Pressing ‘A’, he waits for the game to load up the battle.

 

Arya snorts, her eyes never leaving whatever show has caught her attention. “I have to agree with Bran, you’re going up against a pro. Surrender now before your male ego gets kicked in the nuts.”

 

“Unlikely,” his answer is a distracted rebuttal, if only because the battle’s begun and his focus zeroes on it.

 

Though it is the truth as he knows it; Jon is not one to brag, but _here_ , Competitive Pokemon Battles—well, for all that Robb teases him about it saying it might ruin his bad boy image, those are his _thing_. He’s been into these games since he was a child, after all. He _knows_ his stuff.

 

Yet, all of that seem useless as ten minutes later he’s down to one pokemon and _losing_. What the hell.

 

“Jon, you’re _losing_.”

 

Arya smirks at him, as does Bran, but he ignores it while he tries to understand just _what the hell_ happened.

 

Robb has no compunctions as he straight out laughs at him. “Who’s your opponent?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, though, just moves to sit next to them and looks himself. “Oh, _brother_ , you should’ve listened to the little ones.”

 

“I did,” and God, does he feel like a child wanting to stomp his feet—this team is truly perfect and he lost embarrassingly fast.

 

_How?_

 

“Not the _littlest_ one.”

 

Jon frowns, moves Rickon off his lap, and hunches over the 3DS; no, this cannot be, he won last year’s Championship. “A rematch, then.”

 

Robb laughs again. “Another one? Seriously, you’re not gonna win.”

 

“How’d you know?”

 

There’s no time for him to answer, because just then, and as he waits for his opponent to accept the rematch, the eldest—the prettiest, his mind whispers—of the little ones decides to skip into the living room; bright smile, a perky bounce in her step, and wearing only a pair of short shorts and a tank top. God have mercy on his soul.

 

_Sansa._

 

“Rickon, I already beat you _three times_ ,” she says, a purple 3DS in her hands, “and I need to keep playing, sweetie—oh.”

 

Jon looks at her, his minds taking in all the little details that _should_ provide him with the whole picture but he refuses to put the pieces together just yet. So, he looks at her, and tilts his head, and tries to make sense of it all despite his denial. Sansa stares back for a while, blinks and then holds the 3DS to her chest and _smiles_ , and blushes _oh so prettily_ that for a second Jon forgets what it is about this that makes his head spin.

 

“Oh, hello, Jon.”

 

His hearts lurches – _God_ but even her voice is the prettiest.

 

“Sansa.”

 

Her smile widens; he’s sure his heart skipped several beats in the process.

 

“You just kicked Jon’s ass, sis.”

 

And the moment last until Arya decides to break his illusions—goddamn, is it real?

 

“What?”

 

Bran smiles at her and waves his hand in his general direction. “Jon’s the one who battled you just now. You beat him.”

 

Robb grins and blows her a kiss. “Good one, Queen S!”

 

Jon’s eyes drop to the small screen, where a picture of the player he’s still trying to rematch is. A female, red-haired, blue-eyed player called QueenS.

 

“Oh,” and then he commits the biggest faux pas of his life since meeting the Starks. “That was you? I lost to _you_?”

 

And maybe, maybe he could’ve done without the incredulous tone; then sweet-smelling, tender-hearted, ever-smiling Sansa levels him with such a cold, calculative look that has him squirming on the spot. Rickon scrambles to get out of the way once she walks closer, and Robb only commiserates with a pat on his back and a mumbled ‘you’re on your own’.

 

Sansa sits in front of him, crossing her legs, and still not uttering a single word. Jon feels this sudden urge to beg _forgiveness_ , but he thinks he ought to be excused, for his shock – he would’ve never thought _Sansa_ , of all the girls he knows, would acquire an interest in Pokemon games, lest of all be _good_ at Competitive Battles.

 

 _A pro, if Bran’s to be believed_ , he thinks.

 

“Do you think you can manage not to ogle me for the next twenty minutes so we can have a fair battle?”

 

Her hand shakes, what’s clearly, her own 3DS at him as she poses the question. And were his stupid male ego not miffed—the Starks that make their current audience go ‘ooooh’ around them—he’d blush in embarrassment at knowing himself _caught_. As it is, this goes beyond having lost to his apparently-not-so-secret crush.

 

Jon gives her a sharp nod, and forces his gaze away from _her_ and onto the game.

 

“Wait!” They look at Bran, who hands another game to Sansa. “Here, as Jon’s not using his own team, I thought it’d be only fair that you use mine.”

 

The prettiest Stark—he berates himself for thinking that, as she’s currently the _enemy_ —shrugs. And after a few minutes of saving, exchanging the games and loading the battle menu, they’re all set to go.

 

She arches an eyebrow at him. “No rules?”

 

Jon nods. “No rules.”

 

Sansa smirks then, and dammit but his heart does a little flip at such tantalizing twist of her lips. “Then I wish you luck in the wars to come, Jon Snow.”

 

Oh.

 

“As do I, You Grace.”

 

_Oh, I think I’m in love._


	2. Catelyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Catelyn finds out Sansa's competitive side takes an unexpected turn - the surprise is not a surprise after all.

Catelyn Stark is no stranger to letting her children sleep-in on weekends, especially when the previous night proved to be one of celebration – _justified_ celebration, she’s not of the habit of letting the eldest of her brood use the house to throw parties whenever they liked.

 

However, that usually means not seeing at least _three_ of her children before noon. Therefore, when Robb, Arya and Sansa step into the kitchen at eleven o’clock, it is all Catelyn can do not to walk over them to check their foreheads. Of course, Robb and Arya look as she expects them to look – grumpy and cringing and complaining at any sudden loud noises, walking past her and Ned and their younger brothers with mumbled greeting and practically throwing themselves on their respective seats.

 

Sansa—now _she’s_ a different, and completely surprising, story.

 

Her eldest daughter looks too perky for someone who stayed up late celebrating her nineteenth birthday – an early present from her big brother, Robb had _insisted_ as he planned the whole thing, and begged for her and Ned to let them use the house. Sansa skips around the table, chanting a cheerful ‘good morning’ as she places a kiss on her cheek and then proceeds to drop another on her father’s head.

 

Ned smiles, places his mug on the table. “You’re particularly happy this morning.”

 

“I had a great night,” is Sansa’s reply, smiling back as she finished her round of greetings.

 

“Did you?” asks Bran, who looks at his sister over his shoulder as he is the last Stark to receive a kiss from Sansa; and it is the expression on his face, the lightly dubious tone of his voice that catches her attention.

 

Sansa keeps on smiling, though she does stare a little bit too long at Bran as she nods her head, humming, and then turns to skip over the refrigerator. Catelyn glances at the faces of her children, only Bran, Sansa and Rickon looking properly awake, Robb and Arya eating their breakfast almost mechanically as the slump over it. Just Bran, then, she thinks, as Robb and Arya would not hesitate to tease Sansa if something had happened last night.

 

She debates with herself whether she should pursue the issue or not, considers it as she watches her eldest daughter skip the food laid out on the table for some cereal and a glass of orange juice. Thinks it might be nothing, otherwise Sansa would not be so _happy_ – she’ll let it go.

 

“Won’t you sit with us?”

 

“Oh sorry, Dad, but I have a little _snowflake_ to crush.”

 

Catelyn knows what that means. In the years since her daughter had acquired a love for those… _Pokémon_ games—something she’s not exactly thrilled with, but has learned to accept—every time Sansa says she has something to crush it means a… competitive battle, _yes_ , that is it. Ned nods in understanding, though she knows his knowledge of this is as vast as hers – which isn’t much, to be fair.

 

Rickon seems to catch onto some hidden meaning, because he’s suddenly interested in his surroundings. “Another one?”

 

“Jon is winning by one match now,” says Bran, almost offhand.

 

“But I thought they were tied?”

 

Sansa pinches Rickon’s cheeks as she passes by him to grab a tray, as she seems to be grabbing more than just cereal now. “He won’t be winning for long, sweetie, you’ll see.”

 

“You’re playing with Jon, now?”

 

“Yes, Mom.”

 

“Oh well. Will you tell him we’ll be starting at nine o’clock tomorrow, please?”

 

She thinks nothing of this request; Catelyn has _always_ made a whole day of each one of her children’s birthdays. Breakfast used to be a family-only thing; friends are allowed to lunch and/or dinner. But _Jon_ —he’s become such a constant in their lives that it would be odd not to have him over the whole day.

 

So, Catelyn thinks nothing of this; until Sansa stops gathering her breakfast, looks at her an says:

 

“Can we put a pin on that, Mom? Jon’s the _enemy_ for the time being.”

 

“Sansa,” she replies disapprovingly, “over a game?”

 

“No, but—”

 

Ned looks up from his newspaper. “Is it something else, then?”

 

 _That_ seems to be accurate; Sansa blushes, averts her gaze and hurries to pile her food on the tray, beating a hasty retreat from the kitchen. She exchanges startled looks with her husband, before turning on their oldest.

 

“Robb.”

 

Their boy had clearly not been aware of anything as he jumps in his seat, blinking confusedly. “Wha—good morning.”

 

“Son,” begins Ned, “did something happen between Jon and your sister?”

 

“No?” Robb blinks again. “Jon gets along great with Arya.”

 

The alluded sister elbows him in the ribs; surprising, as Catelyn thought her unaware as well.

 

“Dad meant Sansa.”

 

“Oh,” a pause, he scratches his chin. “Nothing bad would happen; they’re in love.”

 

A few months ago, that would have been a surprise; a few months ago, she would have believed it on Jon’s part – the boy has never been exactly subtle when it comes to his feelings, he is a remarkable open book. A few months _ago_ ; however, now… Catelyn knows her daughter—Catelyn has been much closer to her daughter since her disastrous relationship with Joffrey Baratheon ended, so she’s _seen_ it. Has seen the way she looks at Jon, knows when it all started for Sansa; she knows it has been a slow process for her tenderhearted daughter.

 

So Robb’s assessment of this is not a surprise to her – or anyone in their family, in fact. It’s just… this sudden classification of ‘the enemy’ that confuses her.

 

Until she catches Bran fidgeting in his place; there’s her source of information, she thinks, even if she loathes to pry.

 

“Bran.”

 

Her words echo around them, carrying enough intent to draw everyone’s attention, even that of Robb and Arya.

 

“I know nothing,” her sweet boy tries, and almost succeeds, to be convincing.

 

“Bull,” says Arya, before going back to her breakfast.

 

Catelyn frowns, now truly curious. “Brandon.”

 

Robb gives him a sympathetic smile. “If Sansa swore you to secrecy, you’re off the hook, little brother.”

 

An attempt to help; Ned does allow the children their secrets, so long as those don’t put them or anyone else in peril. And so long as no one is breaking any laws, _anything_ else, it is theirs to keep.

 

But Bran cringes, and they all know he has no oath to fall back on. “They don’t know I know.”

 

Now, Robb’s properly intrigued as well. “They? Oh ho, please, do tell.”

 

“They kissed, didn’t they?” Arya asks, nudging her brother to prompt him to talk.

 

“Well, it has been a long time coming,” says Ned, earning himself a few shocked looks. “Contrary to what you children might _believe_ , I am not blind _or_ oblivious to what happens under my roof.”

 

Catelyn smiles at him, but agrees. “Jon hasn’t been particularly subtle about it, nor has Sansa, once she allowed herself to reciprocate those feelings.”

 

Their youngest daughter gapes at them. “Wow, is this you giving them your blessings?”

 

Ned smiles, leans over to tap her forehead. “As long as you don’t tell them.”

 

Robb laughs before rounding once more on Bran. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you, little brother.”

 

He’d been hoping just that, if his groan says anything. “I really don’t know… I mean, I only heard them talking—they were sitting at the top of the stairs.”

 

“When was this?”

 

“After the party was over… you began cleaning up,” Bran takes a deep breath, almost to brace himself, and Catelyn’s about to tell him there is no need to tell on his sister—but then he blurts it all out. “They were picking up some trash, I guess? They had plastic bags when they sat on the stairs, but they had their 3DS’s and… I really don’t know what happened later, but Sansa was telling Jon he could kiss her if he beat her on another no-rules battle.”

 

Bran shrugs then, as if to say that is all.

 

“But then why is Jon the enemy now? They both wanted to kiss for ages.”

 

Rickon doesn’t get his answer right away, as both Robb and Arya spring into action rather suddenly and run out of the kitchen, presumably to Sansa’s room. Bran sighs, but moves on his wheelchair to her side to give her a kiss on the cheek, thanking her for the food, then excuses himself.

 

“Well, son, it seems your sister feels like she should still be winning,” says Ned, patting their youngest on the back.

 

Their little one frowns. “Or maybe she wants more kisses.”

 

Catelyn chuckles and kisses his head. “Maybe she does, sweetling, maybe she does.”

 

_(Later, when Sansa brings down the tray with her dirty dishes—a bounce in her step and a smile on her face—and begins to clean up, she tells her Jon will be arriving at nine as planned.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did not expect to expand on this. honest.


	3. Robb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Robb's finally caught up on the state of things, several months later. he doesn't take it well.

Robb is not in the habit of lying to himself, has _never_ had the need. His parents have raised him to be an honest man and, while he’s not _above_ lying, he’s never done it to himself or out of malice.

 

So, right now, he’s not going to deny that the only reason he urged Jon to play catch with him is so he can keep track of his hands, and _not_ because he’s bored and the rain had put a stop to his original plans for the morning, as he’d told him. He’s just not going to share that truth with anyone else – lest of all Jon.

 

Jon, his brother in _all but blood_. Loves him as much as he loves Bran and Rickon. Trusts him with his very life, _trusts him_ to be there to protect his siblings were he to fail—

 

—but _Gods_ , he can’t push aside the nagging little voice in the back of his head chanting that now – _now_ that Jon is Sansa’s boyfriend, now, he’s _the enemy_ and must be constantly watched.

 

Honestly, being the eldest has never felt more like a burden. _Jon is Jon_ , he thinks and catches the tennis ball flying towards him, throwing it back, _he’s trustworthy, he’d never hurt Sansa_.

 

He knows that, he _does_ , lets it resonate down to his very core, but dammit it all if his Protective Older Brother Mode is hard to shut down when it comes to Sansa after Joffrey _fucking_ Baratheon.

 

 _Jon is Jon_ , he thinks again, throwing back the ball with a _little_ too much force and a _little_ off course that Jon has to stretch to catch it this time, _he’s different. I trust him, we all do_.

 

“ _Robb_ ,” there it is, the whine he’s been expecting for a while now, “stop!”

 

Jon grins at him, then at Sansa, and surely goes to apologize when Arya stumbles into the den and throws herself onto the armchair closest to her path.

 

Arya hides her face into one of the cushions and mumbles, “what’s he doin’ now?”

 

“I’m only playing catch with Jon,” he says, infuses as much indignation into his voice as possible. “She’s only complaining because she’s nursing a hangover.”

 

Sansa hums, doesn’t even bother to look his way. “He’s making my pillow move unexpectedly.”

 

Arya looks up then, only now registering the sight on their couch. “ _Oh_ , ain’t that cute.”

 

Jon chuckles at her deadpan tone and Sansa whines again as he keeps jostling her. He smiles at her even though she can’t see him—and Robb is completely confused by his need to divert Jon’s attention _elsewhere_.

 

“ _Jon_ ,” and maybe his tone is a little too sharp, but other than give him a puzzled look, his best friend throws him the ball, resuming their game.

 

So last night they had celebrated Arya’s eighteenth birthday – a week later, so her _not-boyfriend_ Gendry could be here. And because he’d planned everything again, because his parents decided to take Rickon with them and leave him in charge of the house and the rest of his younger siblings, Robb had played the responsible adult and drank nothing alcoholic.

 

Also, because this time _both_ his sisters had been with their respective boyfriends—or _not-boyfriend_ , as kept Arya insisting—he’d also roped Jon into playing responsible adult with him to make it easier to control the bunch of rowdy teens that gathered to celebrate Arya’s birthday.

 

Funny, it _is_ , how last night he’d had no problem with Jon and Sansa as a _couple_ —or the last year, they’ve been dating for almost a year and he had been _fine_ with it. So.

 

_So._

 

What gives?

 

He’s been witness to most of their time together – ok, not _most_ , but some, _enough_ that seeing them _together_ now should not bother him. He’s teased them plenty of time about their weird beginning—who tells their crush that they can kiss if they win a Pokémon battle, _really_ —and about the nerdy bonding time.

 

Is it that? Robb _wonders_. Maybe it is, he’s only ever seen them together when they all hang out here, in their parents’ home, either Jon or Sansa or both with the Pokémon games, engrossed in battling or talking about things that go over his head because he doesn’t understand it. And when they’re not with their games, they’re all watching movies or generally bonding as a family and— _that’s_ the extent to his knowledge of their relationship.

 

But then – then he stumbles upon them spending some time _alone_ this morning.

 

_They weren’t even doing anything._

 

Truly.

 

Robb had asked Jon to let Gendry take the downstairs’ guestroom, to sleep on the couch so he could catch any stragglers lurking about once the party was over and they were done cleaning up. The girls had been led to their rooms—both completely wasted and sure to wake up with a massive hangover, which turned out to be true, and one he hopes dissipates before their parents get home—Bran had retired early, and Robb had not known Gendry long enough to put his trust in him, so that left Jon.

 

That left _Jon_ because of the two of them, he’d always been the light-sleeper. And that had been that; Robb had gone to sleep thinking he’d wake up in the morning and find his best friend watching something on Netflix and waiting for a Stark to wake up so they could get breakfast.

 

Because, even after all these years, Jon would never assume.

 

Only, this _morning_ —Jon had not been alone. Robb had come down to stumble upon his best friend sitting on the far end of the couch with his sister sitting on his lap, two empty bowls piled up onto the low table in front of them. The TV was on, a cartoon show providing the soft background noise to their quiet time.

 

They had been _cuddling_ , just cuddling; Sansa’d had her head resting on Jon’s shoulder, her right hand pressed against his neck, and Jon – he’d had his chin resting on top of her head, his arms loosely wrapped around her as he played with her hair. The only reason he’d know Sansa was awake was the movement of her thumb as she stroked Jon’s jaw.

 

That had been all and it had suddenly _hit him_ – his little sister is dating his best friend.

 

The ball keeps flying across the living room.

 

Sansa finally huffs in annoyance and slides off Jon’s lap, startling him into stillness and forcing their game to a stop—Robb just wants to get on with their game, _goddammit_ , is that too much to ask—but Sansa doesn’t leave, as he expected. She moves along the couch, shuffles on it for a while, urges Jon to fold his right leg over the other, places a cushion over his lap, and leans back – after wriggling about some more, and Robb is a second away from telling her to _stop stop it stop wriggling stop wriggling on his lap goddammit_ , Sansa twists a little into his best friend and wraps her arms around his waist.

 

Then, it’s as if no one else were in the room _but them_ : Jon grins at her, the sappiest look he’s seeing on his best friend’s face to date, and Sansa – she gives him that dimpled smile that makes her eyes shine. The smile that used to be a common occurrence _before_ and he’s so very happy to see again.

 

“God, I’m getting cavities just by looking at you,” of course, Arya interrupts, even if she’s grinning as well; she’s soundly ignored, “ _enough_ with the sweetness! I need my morning coffee if I have to see you be all lovey-dovey.”

 

Jon throws her the ball, which she easily catches. “Then go get your coffee, so you can come play catch with us.”

 

Arya groans, but agrees nonetheless, and stands up—only to fall back down when Bran wheels into the room with a tray piled with steaming mugs and a bowl balanced on his legs.

 

“No need,” he says and smiles, “here you go, Arya.”

 

His youngest sister grabs her mug with a reverence that makes him laugh. She then proceeds to hook an arm around Bran’s neck to press sloppy kisses to his cheek.

 

“You’re my hero, little brother.”

 

“I know,” he manages to extricate himself from her hold and wheel towards him; he hands him the bowl of cereal, “Robb, I’ll assume you haven’t had anything to eat.”

 

It’s the reminder of _why_ he’s not eaten more than the knowing look on Bran’s face that makes him clamp his mouth shut and throw a baleful glance at the _happy couple_. His brother shrugs his shoulders, smiling in that way he _has_ —that way that tells the world he knows something that should be painfully obvious—before completing his round at Sansa’s side.

 

She leans away from Jon to reach for her mug, arching an eyebrow at their little brother, “is it?”

 

“It is,” and again, Bran accepts his sister’s sloppy kisses to his cheek with a smile before placing some distance between them, and hands the last extra mug to Jon.

 

Sansa sips her lemon tea, because it cannot be anything else for her to look so pleased, and sighs. “You’re an angel, Bran! Consider yourself my favorite brother from now on.”

 

“Mine too,” says Arya, cradling her mug in contentment.

 

Jon nods at him, thanking him for the coffee. “You could’ve told me, I wouldn’t have minded helping you.”

 

“It’s nothing, really, besides I dared not risk Sansa’s wrath by forcing her pillow away from her,” he grins. “Also, it’s good to know I’m the girls’ favorite now.”

 

“It’s not that we like to play _favorites_ , but,” and here his littlest sister frowns at him, “Robb’s being douchey.”

 

“Am not.”

 

And if he resists the urge to stick out his tongue and stomp his foot, he’ll count it as a win, despite the incredulous looks his siblings are giving him.

 

Sansa scoffs at him, throwing an “are so” over her shoulder after leaving her empty mug on the low center table; she goes back to cuddling her current _pillow_.

 

His eye twitches. “Arya, pass me the ball.”

 

“Nope, not when you’re looking like that.”

 

Bran sniggers, Sansa ignores him, but Jon seems to _finally_ catch up on what’s going on, if his conflicted expression says anything at all. He looks truly regretful as he eases Sansa off his lap, urges her to sit up, and then focuses his gaze on him. His siblings exchange puzzled looks, Robb knows that’ll change as soon as Jon says what he’s going to say.

 

“Robb,” his hands hold one of Sansa’s, the one contact he seems reluctant to break, “does it really _bother_ you that much?”

 

There’s no need to clarify what he _means_.

 

He cringes; Arya is quick to snap, throwing him the ball with as much strength as she can muster and were he less _prepared_ , that hit would’ve hurt, but he catches the damn ball.

 

“Really, Robb?”

 

“I don’t—”

 

His sisters don’t even let him speak, they’re quick to throw whatever’s within reach; luckily for him, that’s just cushions now. It’s Sansa’s mutinous glare that _does it_ , that fills him with regret now, because – he’s never meant to _hurt_ his dear sister, and look at what he’s done now.

 

“Stop—” there’s another cushion, the last one, thank God, “—stop that! Stop _looking_ at me like that! It’s not like I’m going to make you break up or—or _something_. What the fuck do you take me for?”

 

It’s not like he’s _really_ got a problem with them, together, _dating_ —it’s not, because he _doesn’t_. Really, but fucking hell, Robb thinks they should cut him some slack.

 

Sansa straightens her posture, projecting the same kind of authority that only Mother seems to possess. “Then what _the fuck_ is your problem?”

 

_Mother would not curse, though._

 

“Robb’s just realizing that you two are dating,” says Bran, earnest and silently pleading with them to stop fighting. “It just dawned on him.”

 

“Just _now_? It’s been almost a year.”

 

Chugging down the last of his coffee, he decides to beat a hasty retreat while he still can. “Mom and Dad should be arriving soon,” he states, rather loudly, throws the ball at Bran because he trusts him not to throw it back, “I’ll go wake up Gendry, then.”

 

“Robb!”

 

So he leaves, quickly, despite protests and he hopes— _hopes_ no one will follow. Hopes they let him wake Arya’s _not-boyfriend_ up and retreat into his room.

 

“Robb.”

 

But _of course_ , that’s not going to happen.

 

Jon halts his entrance to the guestroom, not forcefully, and maybe he _does_ want to have this talk – otherwise he would have told him to leave him alone. Robb sighs and leans on the wall across the door as his best friend stands before him.

 

“Hey…” Jon pauses, rocks back and forth on his heels for a moment before straightening up. “I – why didn’t you tell me? Robb, if I’d know it bothered you—”

 

“It doesn’t,” he cuts him off because he needs to say it; because it’s the absolute truth – and what could have Jon done if he had known, really. “It doesn’t bother me, at all.”

 

“Robb—”

 

“I’m fine with it. With you two, together, _dating_ —I’m ok, honest.”

 

Jon sighs and lean on the wall at his back, crossing his arms. “You don’t look ok.”

 

“Listen, I just—” he lets his head fall back, tries to find a way to explain what’s _happened_ , but, “—Bran’s right.” And that’s the whole scope of it. “Bran’s right. I mean, _yeah_ , I knew you were dating—I’ve teased you enough these past months—but it was always in this abstract sense and… now _I know_ , now it’s…”

 

“Real?”

 

“Yeah,” Robb grins, feeling somewhat better, at last, “I just need time to process it, you know? This is the first time I’ve—”

 

“—Seen us alone? Yeah, well, we try not to rub our relationship on anyone’s face,” Jon smirks, “that’d be tacky.”

 

He snorts, but the moment is short lived; the question that’s been burning its path through his head slips before he can stop it, but knows he really wants to hear the answer.

 

“What would you have done, if you’d know it bothered me?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Would you break up with Sansa, if I asked?”

 

“No,” the answer it’s immediate, Jon actually looks surprised but resolute. “No, I would not.”

 

A second, then another, and a third—Robb reaches over to grasp his shoulders, and says:

 

“Good answer,” and he means it, “that’s the _right_ answer.”

 

With a last grin, Robb pushes Jon down the hall, sends him back to cuddle his little sister—and it might take a while, he knows, but soon he’ll be perfectly ok with _everything_. The cuddles, the disgustingly sweet glances, and whatever _else_ it is they do when they’re alone – stuff he is not thinking about, nope, _not at all_.

 

*****

 

And later; after the rain’s stopped, after their parents get home, after lunch and trying to ease Gendry into the family’s dynamic. After they step outside; as Sansa and Bran try to help Rickon with his Pokémon game, try to stop him from going YOLO about it, and Arya and Gendry sit on the steps of the back porch, talking in whispers.

 

After he and Jon idly meander around the puddles littering their backyard, Robb ask for some clarification.

 

“Bran? What’s that attack called,” he says, makes an idle gesture with his hand, “the one that most of the Pokémon have when they’re younglings?”

 

Sansa smirks at him. “Younglings?”

 

He takes the grown-up approach to her teasing – and sticks his tongue out at her.

 

Thankfully, Bran considers his question. “Most? I guess… the move _Tackle_?”

 

“Yes! Tackle, that’s it. Thank you!”

 

He grins at them, spins quickly around, and does exactly that – _tackles_ Jon into the mud.

 

“ROBB!”

 

His family _really_ ought to cut him some slack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a multichap now. oops? also, double oops, but this was supposed to be all happy and light-hearted?


	4. Rickon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for [Jonsa Week](http://jonsa-week.tumblr.com/), day oct 25th - modern au.

It’s Rickon’s idea, and he’s quite proud of it.

 

Well, _Bran_ had given them the general idea first—make a YouTube channel to stream their playthroughs of the game, their online battles, trades, shiny hunts and any other thing they can come up with—but that idea had been given to Jon and Sansa as _individuals_.

 

Rickon is the one to suggest they create the channel as a _team_.

 

“You’re dating,” he says, “that’s not very common among the gamers that have a stream channel. You’re both recognized Champions by now. You’d be super popular.”

 

Sansa jumps at the idea, hugs him and Bran both, ruffling their hair for good measure, before turning on Jon with her best puppy-dog’s eyes to convince him. Rickon laughs because even though Jon _tries_ to resist, his attempts are pitiful at best. And his big sister has a way to always get what she wants.

 

Always.

 

“It’s going to be time-consuming, Sansa,” says Jon, struggling not to smile and failing miserably; because now it’s not just Sansa the one giving expectant looks, but Bran and Rickon himself as well. “We have classes to attend to, I have _work_ …”

 

“There’s no need to commit fully to it,” Bran smiles at him, shrugging his shoulders. “I make a video or a stream once a week, twice if time allows it. No need to do it every day – it’s just for fun.”

 

Sansa flutters her eyes then, sliding closer to Jon, gives her brightest smile; Rickon tries to smother his laugher, because he knows his sister’s _already_ won.

 

“Once a week is doable, Jon, between the two of us.”

 

And then:

 

“Alright.”

 

The excited squeal is high-pitched _enough_ to bring the rest of their family’s attention onto them – but Sansa tackling Jon into the carpeted floor to pepper his face with kisses is enough to _divert_ it away with amused laughs. When their lips touch, Rickon expects them to make it quick, as they usually do, but as it prolongs he makes gagging noises that _may_ or may not be feigned and scrambles to grab a pillow from the couch to throw it at them.

 

“There are children in here!”

 

Jon breaks the kiss—and it is a pretty chaste kiss, even Rickon can admit to that—with a grin. “There’s only you, and only for a few more weeks.”

 

His sass earns him another pillow, this one to the face. “Well, that’s my _sister_ you’re smooching! I _forbid_ you!”

 

He may or may _not_ mean that; honestly, he’s perfectly fine with Sansa and Jon dating, but at twelve going on thirteen, he’d rather not be a _witness_ to their PDA.

 

Bran laughs, as does Sansa, and he’s tempted to throw a pillow at _their_ faces.

 

Jon coughs, and looks at him solemnly; he sits up and helps Sansa do the same, and then gets closer to kneel at his feet. “I vow to abide by your orders, m’lord. I shan’t smooch your Lady Sister again.”

 

Rickon crosses his arms, tries his very best not to grin now. “Very well, Ser Jon. I shall hold you to that. And you,” he turns to Sansa, who can’t seem to be able to smother her laughing, but she _tries_. “You, as a Lady of House Stark, you must vow to never smooch Ser Jon again.”

 

Bran can barely hold himself upright in his wheelchair; there are even some _tears_ in his eyes. Rickon is so very tempted to follow his big brother’s example and burst out laughing— _he doesn’t know where all this royal stuff is coming from_ —but he has to make his point, he won’t be witness to any more _smooching_.

 

His preteen sanity depends on it.

 

Sansa scrambles to his side – a most exaggerated sob leaving her; grabs his hands, and gives him her best pleading eyes. “Oh, Lord Brother, must you punish me so? Please, please, I beg of you! I cannot bear to be away from my love!”

 

He struggles to keep a stern face; catches the audience they’ve gathered with all the racket – their parents and Robb, as Arya is currently out on a date with her still-not-boyfriend.

 

Rickon clears his throat, adopts the best severe expression he can muster; tries to remember how his Dad looked that one time he broke an ancient lamp from his study—tries to imitate that. “I must protect your honor, dear Sister. Do not despair; I shall make you a good match.”

 

“Oh, but you would be so cruel, to break your Sister’s heart? Please, please, I beg you, my Lord,” Sansa gasps for breath, letting out a sob that would be convincing once she stopped grinning, “you must let me wed him! Ser Jon is a good man. He’s good to me, please, Lord Brother; he’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

 

“But the _smooching_ —”

 

Robb cracks up at that, as does their Dad before Mom steers him away and into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder that dinner would be ready soon. Robb comes closer, sits next to Jon on the floor.

 

“It was only ever that! _Just_ smooching! My honor has not been besmirched, I am still a maid!”

 

Now here—here’s where Rickon draws the line. “Ugh, Sansa!”

 

“You asked for it!”

 

“Does that mean I have your blessing to _smooch_ your sister, m’lord?” Jon asks; smirk happily at him.

 

Rickon juts out his chin. “Only if you best me in a duel, Ser. Only the best for my sister, you understand.”

 

“Wait,” Sansa arches an eyebrow at them. “We were in the middle of something here, remember?”

 

Robb grins mischievously at her. “Yeah, you were _smooching_ Jon, if I heard correctly, and bringing shame and dishonor to our family.”

 

“First of all – shut up,” she sticks her tongue out at him. “And second – we were about to plan our YouTube channel? Jon, you already _agreed_.”

 

“Your Liege Lord has ensued a duel, m’lady,” he shrugs. “I must best him to earn the right to smooch you.”

 

“I’ll help you prepare the general layout, Sansa, if you want,” says Bran, which earns him a bright smile – the kind only his sister is capable of.

 

Sansa moves to Bran’s side and hugs him tightly again. “This is why you’re still my favorite brother, Bran, just so you know.”

 

“I’ll help Rickon beat Jon’s ass,” says Robb, then adds looking at Jon, “it’s nothing personal – just making things fair.”

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Rickon clears his throat again, looking pointedly at his sister’s boyfriend. “Fetch your weapon of choice, Ser Jon, and meet me here in five minutes. Be ready to lose!”

 

Jon nods with a grin, and goes to retrieve his bag; he hurries to his room to get his NN3DS, fully prepared to beat Jon on a Pokemon battle, no matter what.

 

There’ll be no more _smooching_ on his watch.


End file.
